And here we go again
by supertrackstar
Summary: Just a non-sense story about Max and the flock.


AN: Just a little something i did in my spare time.

Life as we know it has come to an end.

I failed.

My hard work wasted.

The time and effort I put into my mission, useless!

All a bunch of useless crap.

It was a disaster.

A complete and total mess!

It broke my heart.

Ripped it in half.

Made a smoothie out of it!

And not even the good kind.

It's like a kick in the stomach.

Well…

a kick by an elephant.

Okay, two elephants.

Can elephants even kick?

Like being squished by an elephant.

Like having your wings plucked!

Just imagine lots of pain.

And crying.

And punching.

And breaking.

I mean common! I spent four, not two or three, but four long hours making that cake! That blasted cake. And look at it now, ruined. I step out for one minute, maybe two, and comeback to find this, giant piece of burning black stuff! And the frosting melted in the oven. What stupid person makes their icing so it can't be baked? Stupid person.

Huff, I followed the directions perfectly. One cake feeds 10 people, so I figured we could each eat a whole cake ourselves. So I used six boxes and six times the ingredients, and a pan six times the supposed to be size, (which ended up being a big metal tub I found) and baked it for six times the time for one cake, (but the tub was clean). If one cake takes 35 minutes, that's 35 times six, and then divide that by 60, then… oh.

Why did Iggy leave me, emphasis on the me, here to make the cake? To see me fail, uh, smell me fail. Oh, just wait Iggy; revenge is sweet, unlike my cake.

What am I supposed to do? The party's in an hour! Poor Gazzy will be crushed. Well, until somebody gives him a bomb; which they'll be sure to do. Thanks again Iggy. I could of course, gulp, go to the store. Once is enough, but twice? And without my flock, no way, absolutely not, no!

Chocolate or vanilla, I simply can't decide. I feel like a mom, not like I've felt that way before. Standing in BiLo purchasing a cake, blah. I had already decided that the lady in the hairnet, staring me down, wasn't an eraser. I could tell, it was like a sense, and had nothing to do with the wrinkles and pumpkinish shape. Hey this cake has little army guys on it. And where there are armies there are bombs. Gazzy'll love it!

So from there I flew to the park, with my bags of cake; that's so not a weird sentence. But do you know how hard that is? Well I hope not, you'd have to be some kind of freak! But you're probably really confused right now. It's the end of the world! No, Max burnt a cake! No, she's going to BiLo! NO! Well, yes, but let me explain. Gazzy was going through some mild depression. His economy was down by 60 percent. Man! I am killing these jokes. Anyways we were all overcome with worry, until the Gasman started eating less, cause that meant more for us. Joking, joking! Seriously though, he acted very isolated. I finally understood what the problem was. We weren't eating enough hotdogs! So we were sitting around the fire, roasting weenies, and Gazzy was on his fifth one when it hit me. No, it literally hit me in the face, cause he threw it. I being the composed leader I am, peeled the bologna meat off my cheek, and chucked it back. But I chucked it gently; very controlled.

"Gazzy what is your problem?" I had asked. He was being very deliberate and quite frankly rude.

"Tomorrow's my birthday!" Oh, scratch the above statement.

"When did it turn April?"

"2 weeks ago!" Did I have a calendar? No!

He didn't give us any hints! Well, they weren't subtle enough. How were we supposed to know that when he said "My back hurts, I must be getting older," meant that his birthday was coming? Or when he said "Wow, it's almost been a year since my last birthday." And who was going to eat that hotdog! That's a waste of money, hard earned money at that. But I felt bad for the little guy. So to make it up to him, we're throwing this little shindig in the park; and were inviting all of our friends! So yah well be the only ones there, of course. I guess Iggy wants to join the military when he grows up, cause he went drill sergeant on us. "Red alert, red alert. Fang secure the reservations! Angel load the balloons! Nudge buy some stylish décor! Max prepare the rations!" Note that if we are doing all of this, then what is Iggy doing? Yah that's what I thought.

I spotted my flock, huddled around a picnic table, and preparing for the party. Hey, they'd actually done a pretty good job. Lots of balloons and streamers, which I don't think are supposed 'stream' on the ground. Angel and Nudge were dressed in their best attire, not the usual ratty-tatty jeans, but ones with fewer holes. And Fang even brushed his hair; how thoughtful!

I flew down to meet the guys, and handed them the bags.

"Store bought? I told you to bake a cake! Oh, this simply won't do." He just had to criticize.

"I got you an ice-cream one," handing him the frozen desert.

"Alright man!" People pleaser that's me. I had one cake for everyone; a white frosted delicacy for Angel, triple chocolate fudge for Nudge (ha get it), strawberry with sprinkles for Fang (cause I'm good like that) and a giant chocolate chip cookie cake for me! Gazzy better appreciate all of this, it cost a fortune!

We all sat down and lit the candles on Gazzy's cake, sending a warning to him and Iggy, and started singing the birthday song. I laughed as Fang gave me an 'as-if' look when I nudged him for not singing.

"Make a wish Gasman." He made a thoughtful face, and then closed his eyes. Boom! And there went the cake.

AN: Review!


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